


All the Lives of Our Fears

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [28]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melkor dreams; Mairon watches and waits until he is able to fix everything that has been changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Lives of Our Fears

**Author's Note:**

> This one is set not long after Melkor returns to Angband after his imprisonment.
> 
> I'm open to taking a few requests, if any of you have some!
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon rolled over in the large bed to stare at the fireplace across the room, pulling the furs and blankets tight around his shoulders as he turned his face into a plush feather-stuffed pillow. Wind was howling beyond the stone walls, sharp and piercing, though the sound of it had become almost a comfort to him over the centuries as a constant presence through so much change. They may not be the furiously cold gales of Utumno, but the winds of Angband were just as loud and just as furious in the higher towers of their fortress and along the crests of the mountains surrounding them.

But it was not the wind that had woken Mairon from the slumber he did not truly need. Nor was it the sound of orcs shuffling through the hallways beyond, or the calls of others below. Mairon’s eyes fluttered closed against the orange glow of the dying fire, and he reached out to it with a gentle pull as he sought peace among the falling flames. The coals burned brighter for only a heartbeat before he released the connection, an irrelevant one that did not give him what he desired.

A soft, sorrowed cry from beside him broke the stillness of the room, cutting in through the sound of wind and the soft crackling from the hearth. Mairon opened his eyes again, his lips pursing into a line as a sting pierced through him for the briefest moment as he continued to gaze into the fire.

He did not require sleep, not in the sense that the orcs did, or the Firstborn, or any other flesh-and-blood creature crawling the face of the earth. Or, even, as Melkor did now, his spirit confined as it was in his corporeal form. When Melkor retired to bed, however, Mairon joined him willingly. Sometimes he did fall into sleep, just as the Vala did so easily now, while other times he woke from his dozing rather quickly, only to lie under those warm blankets until his companion finished whatever cycle was necessary for this new body of his.

It became apparent after a mere few nights of this, however, that sleep was not, in fact, a simple thing for Melkor. Or at least it was simple for his body, certainly - but not for his _soul_.

Mairon rolled over again, his gaze searching through the darkness to find Melkor’s form so close to his in the bed. The Vala was on his back, his face creased as a dream of some sort took shape in his unconscious mind. Mairon watched him, as he did so often in these late hours, wondering if this one would pass gently or linger with wisps of vision and memory to cause pain until Melkor finally woke. 

Melkor made a distressed sound in his throat, and Mairon shuffled under the blankets, pushing them down his body so he could lift himself into a seat against the pillows. It appeared to be the second option this night. He frowned, a sigh escaping his lips as he stared down at Melkor’s face, marked with scars and lined with worry. 

At first, Melkor had to request Mairon’s presence here in the evenings, and it came as something of a surprise to them both. He had been somewhat embarrassed by this development in his change of habits, the need his body had for sleep. He saw it as a terrible and unforgivable weakness. But then, without question or summons, Mairon had returned, night after night at the same time and without complaint. He offered loving companionship as he always had, or gentle company as Melkor drifted off. 

Melkor had never mentioned it, had never thanked him for it, but he did not need to.

Mairon reached out an affectionate hand and brushed it across Melkor’s forehead. His skin, always so cool to the touch, was warm and flushed. He never spoke of the dreams he had, these night terrors, and it was likely he did not remember them. Mairon rarely asked, even when whatever images he saw to give such misery woke him from troubled sleep.

Instead, Mairon did what he could in these moments to comfort, to remove the pain or the fear caused by these sensations he could not see. He took a deep breath and felt through Melkor’s energy as it bled outward in his sleeping state. He felt the familiar ebbs and flows, the channels flowing through his soul in powerful eddies he so loved to lose himself in. There was a fraying on the edges, a discord that had no place in a harmony so beautiful.

Mairon placed his hand to Melkor’s cheek, opening his mind fully to the Vala’s to allow whatever images were tormenting him there to be lessened, drawn by two sources as they were. They came freely, uninhibited and pouring out with strength as the dam was lifted.

All he saw was darkness.

Fear and panic and hopelessness and an anxiety so intense he felt it clog in his throat welled together into his chest as that darkness took shape in his mind. He did not break the connection, and as he allowed the energy to flow both ways, he pushed his own along the cord, flaming and bright, full of peace and devoted adoration that hung so near to love. Melkor turned his face into the touch, not waking, and though the darkness of his dream did not fade, Mairon felt as the sensations of despair lessened to a much more manageable degree.

Melkor murmured in his sleep, and Mairon loosened his hold on the connection he had formed until it dropped completely, gently curling his fingers and running them along Melkor’s jaw, and then his forehead and into his hair. The dream had passed.

Another would come. Another always came, now. But Mairon would destroy everything Melkor could not. 

He sank down against the pillows again until he was able to tug the blankets up to his chin once more. After a long moment of silent watching, of making sure the newfound peace remained, Mairon rested his head on Melkor’s chest and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to take in the scents around him. He could feel Melkor’s easy breathing, the gentle expansion of his ribs under the spread of his fingers with each inhale, the thudding of a corporeal heart inside a corporeal body lulling him away. 

It was only as he was drifting off himself, back into sleep he truly did not need, that he felt an arm come up to wrap around his shoulders, holding him close.

Wind howled, the fire crackled, hearts beat together, and dreams were found just as easily they were tamed.


End file.
